Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820/The Italian Itinerant, and the Swiss Goatherd
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THE ITALIAN ITINERANT, AND THE SWISS GOATHERD.
PART I.
1.
Now that the farewell tear is dried,
Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!
Whether for London bound—to trill
Thy mountain notes with simple skill;
Or on thy head to poise a show
Of plaster-craft in seemly row;
The graceful form of milk-white steed,
Or Bird that soared with Ganymede;
Or thro' our hamlets thou wilt bear
The sightless Milton, with his hair
Around his placid temples curled;
And Shakespear at his side—a freight,
If clay could think and mind were weight,
For him who bore the world!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!
Now that the farewell tear is dried,
Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!
Whether for London bound—to trill
Thy mountain notes with simple skill;
Or on thy head to poise a show
Of plaster-craft in seemly row;
The graceful form of milk-white steed,
Or Bird that soared with Ganymede;
Or thro' our hamlets thou wilt bear
The sightless Milton, with his hair
Around his placid temples curled;
And Shakespear at his side—a freight,
If clay could think and mind were weight,
For him who bore the world!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!
2.
But thou, perhaps, (alert and free
Tho' serving sage philosophy)
Wilt ramble over hill and dale,
A Vender of the well-wrought Scale
Whose sentient tube instructs to time
A purpose to a fickle clime:
Whether thou chuse this useful part,
Or minister to finer art,
Tho' robbed of many a cherish'd dream,
And crossed by many a shatter'd scheme,
What stirring wonders wilt thou see
In the proud Isle of liberty!
Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine
With thoughts which no delights can chase,
Recal a Sister's last embrace,
His Mother's neck entwine;
Nor shall forget the Maiden coy
That would have lov'd the bright-hair'd Boy!
But thou, perhaps, (alert and free
Tho' serving sage philosophy)
Wilt ramble over hill and dale,
A Vender of the well-wrought Scale
Whose sentient tube instructs to time
A purpose to a fickle clime:
Whether thou chuse this useful part,
Or minister to finer art,
Tho' robbed of many a cherish'd dream,
And crossed by many a shatter'd scheme,
What stirring wonders wilt thou see
In the proud Isle of liberty!
Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine
With thoughts which no delights can chase,
Recal a Sister's last embrace,
His Mother's neck entwine;
Nor shall forget the Maiden coy
That would have lov'd the bright-hair'd Boy!
3.
My Song, encouraged by the grace
That beams from his ingenuous face,
For this Adventurer scruples not
To prophesy a golden lot;
Due recompence, and safe return
To Como's steeps—his happy bourne!
Where he, aloft in Garden glade,
Shall tend, with his own dark-eyed Maid,
The towering maize, and prop the twig
That ill supports the luscious fig;
Or feed his eye in paths sun-proof
With purple of the trellis-roof,
That thro' the jealous leaves escapes
From Cadenabbia's pendant grapes.
—Oh might he tempt that Goatherd-child
To share his wanderings! he whose look
Even yet my heart can scarcely brook,
So touchingly he smiled,
As with a rapture caught from heaven,
When Pity's unasked alms were given.
My Song, encouraged by the grace
That beams from his ingenuous face,
For this Adventurer scruples not
To prophesy a golden lot;
Due recompence, and safe return
To Como's steeps—his happy bourne!
Where he, aloft in Garden glade,
Shall tend, with his own dark-eyed Maid,
The towering maize, and prop the twig
That ill supports the luscious fig;
Or feed his eye in paths sun-proof
With purple of the trellis-roof,
That thro' the jealous leaves escapes
From Cadenabbia's pendant grapes.
—Oh might he tempt that Goatherd-child
To share his wanderings! he whose look
Even yet my heart can scarcely brook,
So touchingly he smiled,
As with a rapture caught from heaven,
When Pity's unasked alms were given.
PART II.
1.
With nodding plumes, and lightly drest
Like Foresters in leaf-green vest,
The Helvetian Mountaineers, on ground
For Tell's dread archery renowned,
Before the Target stood—to claim
The guerdon of the steadiest aim.
Loud was the rifle-gun's report,
A startling thunder quick and short!
But, flying thro' the heights around,
Echo prolonged a tell-tale sound
Of hearts and hands alike "prepared
The treasures they enjoy to guard!"
And, if there be a favoured hour
When Heroes are allowed to quit
The Tomb, and on the clouds to sit
With tutelary power,
On their Descendants shedding grace,
This was the hour, and that the place.
With nodding plumes, and lightly drest
Like Foresters in leaf-green vest,
The Helvetian Mountaineers, on ground
For Tell's dread archery renowned,
Before the Target stood—to claim
The guerdon of the steadiest aim.
Loud was the rifle-gun's report,
A startling thunder quick and short!
But, flying thro' the heights around,
Echo prolonged a tell-tale sound
Of hearts and hands alike "prepared
The treasures they enjoy to guard!"
And, if there be a favoured hour
When Heroes are allowed to quit
The Tomb, and on the clouds to sit
With tutelary power,
On their Descendants shedding grace,
This was the hour, and that the place.
2.
But Truth inspired the Bards of old
When of an iron age they told,
Which to unequal laws gave birth,
That drove Astræa from the earth.
—A gentle Boy—(perchance with blood
As noble as the best endued,
But seemingly a Thing despised;
Even by the sun and air unprized;
For not a tinge or flowery streak
Appeared upon his tender cheek,)
Heart-deaf to those rebounding notes
Of pleasure, by his silent Goats
Sate far apart in forest shed,
Pale, ragged, bare his feet and head,
Mute as the snow upon the hill,
And, as the Saint he prays to, still.
Ah, what avails heroic deed?
What liberty? if no defence
Be won for feeble Innocence—
Father of All! if wilful Man must read
His punishment in soul-distress,
Grant to the morn of life its natural blessedness!
But Truth inspired the Bards of old
When of an iron age they told,
Which to unequal laws gave birth,
That drove Astræa from the earth.
—A gentle Boy—(perchance with blood
As noble as the best endued,
But seemingly a Thing despised;
Even by the sun and air unprized;
For not a tinge or flowery streak
Appeared upon his tender cheek,)
Heart-deaf to those rebounding notes
Of pleasure, by his silent Goats
Sate far apart in forest shed,
Pale, ragged, bare his feet and head,
Mute as the snow upon the hill,
And, as the Saint he prays to, still.
Ah, what avails heroic deed?
What liberty? if no defence
Be won for feeble Innocence—
Father of All! if wilful Man must read
His punishment in soul-distress,
Grant to the morn of life its natural blessedness!